


The Beast

by dinolaur



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:56:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinolaur/pseuds/dinolaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bahorel gets a puppy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Beast

The afternoon that Bahorel strolls into the back room of the Musain with an English Mastiff puppy elicits a varied series of responses. Cosette, Courfeyrac, and Jehan all throw themselves on the floor, cooing and reaching for the little thing that runs to hide behind Bahorel’s legs, and Joly whines above them about the state of the floor. Next to him, Bossuet pulls his feet up on the seat. He doesn’t have the best luck when it comes to dogs. Either they bite at his ankles or pee on his shoe. Combeferre and Enjolras both arch their brows, and Grantaire chuckles and mutters, “This should be good.”

 

“What is that,” Feuilly asks.

 

“It’s a dog, numbnuts,” Bahorel answers.

 

“No shit,” Feuilly responds. “I meant, why do you have it?”

 

“Those seem like two very different questions.”

 

“Can you just,” Feuilly snaps.

 

Bahorel grins widely, lowering down to his knees and scooping the puppy up. Its little tongue lolls out of its mouth, and Courfeyrac makes a noise that isn’t entirely human. “I would love to see a world where you pass up a group of Girl Scouts in front of a pet store and don’t walk away with six boxes of Thin Mints and a puppy.”

 

“You have Thin Mints,” Marius’s head jerks up.

 

“They aren’t cold yet, calm your tits,” Bahorel answers.

 

“Okay, but seriously, why the puppy,” Feuilly asks.

 

“Are you deaf? Did you not just hear what I said about Girl Scouts and Thin Mints,” Bahorel asks, absently scratching the puppy’s belly.

 

Courfeyrac groans. “I want to put my tongue in your mouth right now.”

 

“That is a very interesting response,” Éponine says dryly.

 

Courfeyrac looks back at her and waves his hands in Bahorel’s direction. “There is a large, attractive bear of a man standing in front of me and holding a tiny puppy. Are you telling me you don’t want to make out with him right now?”

 

“More so than I’d want to if it was a baby,” Éponine admits, and Cosette leans against Courfeyrac’s side and echoes the noise he’d made earlier. Marius looks slightly distressed, but Bahorel just looks very proud.

 

“Do you know anything about taking care of dogs,” Feuilly asks.

 

“There’s books and shit,” Bahorel answers.

 

“When are you going to have the time for all this,” Feuilly asks. “You’re a law student.”

 

“Who never goes to class,” Combeferre interjects. Bahorel points and winks at him.

 

“Are you aware how big that breed gets,” Feuilly asks.

 

“What the fuck is up with the twenty questions,” Bahorel snaps. “And are you aware how fucking big I am? It’s not like Cosette or Jehan trying to deal with it.”

 

“I’d want a Great Dane,” Cosette says dreamily. “I’d name him Samson, but I’d call him Sam, and when he does giant things, which I will encourage, I’d call him Moose.”

 

“I would pay large sums of money to see Cosette trying to walk a Great Dane,” Grantaire says.

 

“Have you thought of a name yet,” Musichetta asks.

 

Bahorel then grins so widely and with so many teeth that it’s mostly terrifying. He stands to his full, impressive height and holds the puppy up above his head like Simba. “He is my Bloodrider,” Bahorel declares.

 

“Dude,” Feuilly starts.

 

Fiercely, Bahorel hollers over him, “I am the Khal of the Dothraki horde, and he is my Bloodrider, and we are blessed by the Great Stallion.”

 

They sit in silence for a moment before Grantaire sighs, “Season three needs to hurry up and air. You’re starting to get insufferable.”

 

“I don’t know that I can call such a cute little thing Bloodrider,” Cosette says.

 

“At least he’ll grow into it. Better than my grandfather’s little rat of a Yorkie that he named Thor,” Bossuet mentions.

 

“Um, no, okay, that is awesome and hilarious,” Jehan disagrees.

 

Despite the couple of misgivings within the group—“Because Bahorel with The Beast, are you serious,” Feuilly tries to argue—Bloodrider is there to stay, and he ends up being a fairly well behaved dog. He doesn’t listen to everyone, but a look from Bahorel can stop the little thing dead in his tracks when he’s ripping into Bossuet’s shoes.

 

“I told you,” Bahorel says. “I am his Khal. Little shit isn’t about to disobey me.”

 

The thing about puppies, though, is that puppies don’t stay puppies forever. English Mastiffs are enough large on their own, and Bahorel seems to have picked out the beast amongst them. It’s certainly fitting, but it’s rough for anyone other than him to try to contain the almost three hundred pound monster, who seems to think that he’s a lap dog.  Bahorel is at least decent enough to drag Bloodrider off of Jehan and Cosette, who he has a very real chance of crushing, but he tends to leave him on Joly for at least a few minutes, because Joly’s screaming rants about drool and allergies are usually too good to pass up. Most everyone else has given up and just let Bloodrider have his way, and he and Grantaire have an understanding when it comes to cuddle time.

 

The only reason that Bahorel is actually allowed to have Bloodrider is because he lives in an actual house as opposed to everyone else’s apartments and dorm situations. He’s got a yard with a fence, so Bloodrider can run and frolic to his massive heart’s content. During the summer months, they all tend to spend more time at Bahorel’s place, mismatched lawn chairs strewn over the back porch and coolers full of beer set in strategic locations. More often than not, there are also a couple of kiddie pools.

 

It’s a swelteringly hot summer afternoon, the perfect sort for day drinking in the pools. Joly is constantly applying sunscreen and trying to persuade Bossuet, who is always unlucky enough to come away with the worst sunburns, and Cosette, whose skin would make a porcelain doll jealous, to do the same. Courfeyrac had insisted on giant fruity cocktails, which tend to make him either incredibly horny or weepy, and he’s decided today on horny, although the others aren’t sure if that’s fortunate or not, seeing as his free hand is down Jehan’s suit.

 

Not immune to the heat, Bloodrider also uses the pools to cool down. He clambers in right over Feuilly, who hisses and curses as he loses his cigarette, and marches up to Bahorel, splashing everyone before slumping against his owner, his drooping jowls hanging over Bahorel’s knee. Bahorel grins and scratches the dog behind his ears. Feuilly throws out a punch to his arm, and Bloodrider lets out a warning growl that makes Bahorel laugh.

 

“I still don’t understand why that massive fucker hates me so much,” Feuilly complains.

 

“Because he remembers that you were against us in the beginning, and my loyal Bloodrider will not stand for insults to his Khal,” Bahorel explains.

 

“Seriously, who introduced you to that show,” Grantaire yells from the other pool. “They need to be punished.” Musichetta and Cosette exchange smug high fives, and Grantaire mutters, “Well, that’s just not fair.”

 

“Let all tremble in fear before the might of the Dothraki,” Bahorel bellows, grabbing Bloodrider and wrestling the dog onto his back. He goes happily, his tongue hanging out and tail stirring up the water as Bahorel attacks his chest and stomach in the most epic of belly rubs.

 

“Hm, that’s pretty,” Feuilly says, averting his eyes away from the dog.

 

“Drop it,” Bahorel warns.

 

“Are you not going to take care of that,” Joly asks. “What if he becomes aggressive?”

 

“Mastiffs aren’t really aggressive breeds,” Bahorel answers. “They only get snippy if you fuck with their stuff.”

 

“And if someone unknowingly does,” Joly presses. “Do you have any idea the sorts of things that could get into a cut from a dog’s teeth? Jesus, and let’s not even get into—“

 

“Exactly, let’s not,” Bahorel says irritably.

 

“Not that I’m trying to tell you how to live your life or anything,” Éponine says. “But it is just kind of hanging out there, and you know, gross.”

 

“Jesus fuck, he’s not your dog.”

 

“Yeah, but we have to look at it,” Feuilly says. “I mean, what would it hurt?"

 

“Hey, hey," Bahorel finally snaps, hauling Bloodrider up to cradle against his chest. The dog lolls his head back and happily licks up the side of Bahorel’s face. “This—he is a beautiful motherfucker, and you will not chop off his testicles,” he thunders.

 

“Don’t your neighbors have small children,” Enjolras asks.


End file.
